


An Orlesian Affair

by Aenoran



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dread Wolf take you, F/M, Lavellan Is Bitter, Post Trespasser, Solavellan Hell, Some angst, Spoilers for Tevinter Nights, Tevinter Nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:41:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27001414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenoran/pseuds/Aenoran
Summary: “Seeing must be believing then, Charter.”“If only I’d snipped a curl from his golden head.”The dam broke. Their laughter was as sudden and loud as a thunderclap, erupting from their weary bodies like a dormant volcano.____________________________________________________After the events of Tevinter Nights, Charter reports back to Lavellan on what she's seen.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	An Orlesian Affair

**Author's Note:**

> I strongly recommend reading Tevinter Nights! It's a fantastic book and offers some great content to hold us over till DA4. This fic takes place after The Dread Wolf Take You, so there will be spoilers here. :)

“A wig.”

“And the mask.”

“Right.”

“Don’t forget the silky purple suit.”

Aeris Lavellan could almost ignore the incessant pounding at her temple when Charter smiled. There hadn’t been much smiling lately.

They stared at each other, lost in their own incredulity. Aeris, searching for the punchline. Charter, lips trembling in anticipation and battling the tears pressing behind her eyes.

“Seeing must be believing then, Charter.”

“If only I’d snipped a curl from his golden head.”

The dam broke. Their laughter was as sudden and loud as a thunderclap, erupting from their weary bodies like a dormant volcano. It was a manic sound- shrieks and screams that bordered on pain. But it didn’t matter to them.

Aeris rocked with the force of it, gripping onto the desk and desperately gasping for air. The tears ran freely down Charter’s face while her hands clawed at the sides of her stomach. They rolled like a pair of children at the thought of the Dread Wolf in a powdered Orlesian wig, pounding the desk like drunks at a tavern.

Aeris’s head protested sharply at the ruckus, and the corners of her mouth ached from grinning. The pain was exquisite and sweet, unlike anything she’d felt since before the Exalted Council.

Before Him.

They panted with the sheer effort of their amusement, punctuated by breathless chuckles and headshakes.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Aeris brushed a hair from her flushed, sweaty cheek.

“If only Magister Pavus was here to see it,” Charter said breathlessly, weakly propping herself against the desk.

Aeris huffed a small chuckle. “Dorian would think the silky suit and the wig a vast improvement from his wardrobe of three years ago.”

“I’m sure Madame de Fer would be inclined to agree. And this is prime book material for Varric.”

“Be sure to invite them all to the next secret spies of Thedas meeting.”

Charter chuckled, and Aeris closed her eyes, committing the moment to memory before the last bits of it faded from her mind. Soon, its space would be occupied again by maps, reports, and complex translations of Elvhen legend.

No. There was very little to laugh about these days.

Unbidden, the image of a costumed Solas flashed behind her eyelids.

The ridiculousness of it nearly made her laugh again, but she couldn’t muster the effort. A shiny, ridiculous cover for something much uglier. A sharp throb in her chest overtook the dull pangs of laughter in her gut.

A silence fell between them. Aeris sighed, unwilling to open her eyes just yet. Unwilling to break the spell. “Thank you.”

Some might’ve asked what for. Charter didn’t need to.

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

* * *

The rest of the day was as humorless as she’d feared. Solas had built up a vast network of spies and informants, which meant he was outpacing them. It was a mad dash for this idol- the one from Kirkwall that Hawke and Varric had told her about so long ago- and they were being outrun.

They couldn’t see her tired. She couldn’t hide certain things from Harding and Charter- no matter how hard she tried. Leliana had taught them both too well. But she had an obligation to hide those ugly parts from the rest of her people.

So she dissected every aspect of the report, commanding the dank, underground space of the headquarters like she was back in Skyhold’s war room.

_The Inquisitor was hilarious. That’s what they’ll say one day._

It was harder to joke about the end of the world when it was your lover who was ending it.

Aeris ached for Sera- who was away in Val Royeaux exacting revenge on behalf of an abused servant. For Dorian- battling the forces of his own countrymen in the Magisterium. For Cassandra and Varric’s incessant bickering. For sweet Cole. For them all.

Harding and Charter were her companions now. Her spies, her confidantes, her friends. She couldn’t ask the others to be by her side again. They had other obligations.

And she couldn’t afford to trust anyone new.

Aeris bit back a scoff. That was the whole point of disbanding the Inquisition, after all. Wasn’t it?

The pressure behind her temples grew. Her fingers grasped the crystal that always hung around her neck.

_You haven’t lost them._

No, she hadn’t. But now they only existed in letters and voice crystals.

This was on her. Her fight. Her mistake. Her promise of redemption.

She despised herself for it. Despised him for putting her in this situation. Despised him for showing up to her meeting in a fucking wig and costume. Despised it all as much as she loved him.

“…One thing is clear. He’s after the idol.”

Harding’s voice drew her back to the present. She pinched her thigh savagely.

Harding met her gaze. “What do you think, Inquisitor?”

Aeris would pretend that they didn’t know what she had been thinking. Charter and Harding would pretend not to notice.

“I think that we can’t trust anything Solas says.” She leaned forward. “He wants to project an image of strength.”

Charter arched an eyebrow. “You don’t think he has it?”

“Maybe so. But why show up at this meeting?” She shook her head. “He’s seeing what everyone else knows. But we should act as though he does. We should proceed as if he’s showing it to his inner circle right this minute. We need the Siccari and the Ben-Hassrath.”

Harding grimaced. “Getting ahold of them will be difficult.”

“The latest difficult thing in a long line of difficult things,” Aeris said dryly. “I’ll reach out to Dorian and we’ll start there. Harding, we’re going to need that research Varric did on the idol.”

The skin on her leg throbbed, but it was better than thinking about him.

* * *

Charter stayed behind after.

The elf was not one to linger needlessly or dawdle.

Aeris fought the urge to pinch her leg again.

She fingered the report, pretending to read the words she’d already memorized and reread a dozen times in anticipation of Charter and Harding’s arrival. If only she was able to laugh her way through the absurdity of it all. Her blood thrummed hotly in her ears, heart near to bursting, and she loathed it. A dull ache was manageable. A distant enemy was manageable.

Corypheus had the courtesy to not visit her dreams, after all.

She clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth. One pain to replace another, to distract her brain from the sensation in her chest.

“There was something else.” She glanced up from the report, meeting Charter’s even gaze.

If she didn’t know the spy, she wouldn’t have been able to see the softening of her features. Not pity. Charter, like Leliana, knew better than to pity her. An understanding of mistakes made and things overlooked and grief felt.

The anticipation of honesty. There was no name for that emotion. Yet. She thought she would’ve grown used to it. Aeris had heard enough ugly, honest things from her soldiers and spies over the years.

She wondered if Charter’s chest hurt as much as her’s did.

“He said-“ Charter paused, her green eyes narrowing. “He said that he was sorry.”

Pain bloomed like a poisonous, treacherous flower.

Her fingernails bit into her palms like blades. “Thank you, Charter.”

She didn’t need to ask what for.


End file.
